Beyond Graffiti update

A little bird (Kim) had told me there was some new graffiti to be seen in the Beyond Graffiti Tunnel, so for the second parkrun of April, I decided on a change of scene for my morning constitutional. As the park runners began to gather on the flats, I headed past the Hawthorns (still sadly closed), towards the Avenue. Swapping the peace and tranquility of the Old Cemetery for the hustle and bustle of the road didn’t seem like much of a plan at first. Especially when I had to wait to cross. Once on the other side though, I made for Lovers Walk, the relatively quiet trail that runs behind the trees along The Avenue.

The gentle hum of traffic was almost drowned out by birdsong as I stepped from puddles of shadow to puddles of light through the tunnel of trees. New leaves were bursting and the air was filled with the musty scent of earth and leaf mould. Well, it was until I came to my nemesis. The spikes of white flowers on the laurel may look pretty as they open, all pistils and waving stamens, but the sharp citrus scent of them makes me sneeze. Sadly, this sneeze inducing aroma, drowned out the delicate perfume of the bluebells.

A little house stands strangely isolated here, right on the edge of the path, not quite part of the road behind it, but not quite detached from it. The arched diptych windows and the pale blue walls give it the air of an ancient chapel. It always seems as if it would be a wonderful place to live and sets off my house envy. Beyond the house the path leads to the triangle of common land to the east of the Avenue. It’s an area I rarely explore and now it was filled with bursting leaf buds and white blossom.

As I strolled across the spongy grass I caught a glimpse of the Parkes Building on Avenue Campus through the burgeoning branches. Much of the land to the east of the Common is occupied by the sprawl of Southampton University, and this part of the campus houses the Faculty of Humanities. It was a shame that this rather splendid building was mostly obscured by trees. It was built in 1925 as Taunton’s School, a secondary school for boys, and in 1969, became a sixth form college, Richard Taunton College. Now the college has moved to Hill Lane and the University has taken the building over.

My quarry was almost in sight. A few dozen steps and I reached the path that links Khartoum Road to The Avenue. This is where the graffiti covered subway is hidden. The first indication that it’s there is a flash of bright colour against all the green. The closer you get, the more colour there is, along with the occasion acrid whiff of spray paint if you pick a day when artists are working. Now, all I could smell was fresh air, earth and a hint of traffic.

Graffiti, love it or hate it, is a fact of life. Man has been daubing colour on rocks and walls since we lived in caves. The advent of spray cans means it is ubiquitous in modern towns and cities and it sometimes feels as if any stretch of blank wall is fair game. Sadly, many examples are crude to say the least, barely one step up from schoolboys scratching their initials on desks, or drawing phallic symbols to show that their intellect hasn’t quite caught up with their shoe size. The worst excesses I’ve seen were in Naples, where catching the correct train, or getting off at the right station were made impossible by coloured squiggles covering not only the trains themselves, but every station sign along the way. There, I got the feeling that standing in one place too long would probably result in being painted over. Southampton has its share of tags and squiggles too, but the Beyond Graffiti Tunnel is a world apart.

The Beyond Graffiti project is aimed at giving artists somewhere to paint legally. This means the work is less rushed and, therefore, more art than scribble. On this April morning the tunnel appeared to have been taken over by an artist who signed himself Instagram 32 Dutch. Kim and I saw him working back in January, but I’ll tell you about that another time. His work was well worth missing the cemetery and braving the road for.

The subject matter in the Graffiti Tunnel might not always be to my taste, but I’d rather have an ever changing vista of artwork to look at as I pass under the road, than a plain concrete wall. It makes the journey interesting at the very least. It also provides street artists a safe place to practice their work and practice makes perfect, or so they say.

In fact, it seems to me that more of the boring concrete municipal buildings in the city could do with being turned over to street artists. Maybe, if they were, there would be less of the sad little tags springing up in other places.

So, I strolled slowly through the tunnel, snapping photos here and there. Emerging again into the sunshine was almost a disappointment. It felt a bit like walking out of an art gallery into the real world. Somehow the verdant green of the new leaves didn’t seem nearly as bright and glorious after all that vibrant colour.

Strolling across the grass towards the boating lake, I realised there was one less tree on the horizon. The huge tree behind the artesian well had been cut down. Whether it had been diseased or blown over, I couldn’t say, but someone had hacked the stump into a makeshift seat. With three hundred and sixty five acres of Southampton Common, trees do fall with monotonous regularity and often they end up being turned into seats. As an afterlife goes, it is at least useful.

By this time, it was coming up to half past nine, so I thought I’d better head back to the flats and find Commando. There was little time to stop and contemplate the beauty of the blue sky reflected on the boating lake, although I did snap a quick photograph.

On my way I came across more fallen trees. These ones had been piled up and left to rot. This too is useful, as it returns nutrients back to the soil and provides a home for fungi, beetles and other insects. It might be that some of the chunks of decomposing wood had come from the artesian well tree.

Through yet another tunnel of trees, I could soon see the runners — little specks of brightly coloured lycra, dashing about like ants — in the distance. Parkrun was almost over. It was time to get back for the packing up and the post run coffee in the Bellemoor.

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